The Gate Keeper
by m31
Summary: How does the man who denied them of help now deals with their death? A story about Roland after the war.


AN: A thank you to all you guys who helped me with bits and pieces of this, you know who you are, thank you so much.   
And thanks to the Tavern community and its chat for the crazy idea.  
And a special thank you goes to Al. You are the reason this story was written, and you held my hand though it, it wouldn't be done if it weren't for you.   
  
**The Gate Keeper  
**   
  
_ I close my eyes and I keep seeing things  
Rainbow waterfalls  
Sunny liquid dreams  
Confusion creeps inside me raining doubt  
Gotta get to you  
But I don't know how  
Call me call me  
Let me know it's alright  
Cowboy Bebop - Call me call me_  
  
The Mjolnir was docked for recharge, but even so, Roland was sitting in the pilot's seat. He'd chosen the highest functioning bay to land on, 'to keep an eye on things,' he said.  
  
Sparks walked in the cockpit and stalled at the entrance, a plate of food in his hands.  
Roland seemed to be asleep, and Sparks was debating whether he should risk waking him or not.  
  
He looked at the unmoving figure. From where he stood he could see Roland's left shoulder and a bit of his neck. The gray sweater was torn in three places along the shoulder and arm and Sparks could see a stain of blood on the collar. In the faint light he couldn't tell if it was new or not. His eyes traced the vein in Roland's neck, watched it pulse and listened to his measured breaths. He pushed the thought of getting the sleeping man a blanket out of his head and turned to leave.  
  
"Are you gonna stand there all day long?" Roland barked suddenly.  
  
Sparks jumped and nearly lost his hold on the tin plate. He opened his mouth to say something, but then changed his mind and chose different words. "Jesus. I didn't realize that you were awake." He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he stood there awkwardly, waiting for a response from the older man.  
  
"What do you want?" Roland finally spat.  
  
Sparks took a few tentative steps towards Roland, stretching his arm to hand the plate to him. Roland muttered something that Sparks couldn't quite make out, but he could guess what it was. He rolled his eyes and walked to the empty co-pilot's seat. Placing the rapidly cooling plate on his lap, he sat down. "I brought you food, old man".  
  
Roland frowned at the direction of the almost gray, porridge-like substance filling the plate, twisting his nose and upper lip in discontent.  
  
Sparks sighed and moved towards the free seat. "Well, if you insist that I stay…" he said, rolling his eyes. He positioned himself more comfortably in the chair, making a considerable amount of noise in the process. He then began tapping on the tin plate while staring at Roland, who stared impatiently back.  
  
After a few moments Roland puffed out air sharply and snatched the plate from his lap, eyeing Sparks smirking face.   
Roland resolved to try and ignore Sparks' presence. He started eating slowly, not willing to admit how hungry he really was.  
  
Sparks looked at him in silence, noticing the changes in his appearance. His gray hair had gotten longer, and around his eyes were new wrinkles. His cheeks seemed shallow, as if the corners of his mouth were drawn downwards by the burden of the dead.  
  
"Why do you do it?" Sparks said abruptly.  
  
Roland paused his eating and gestured towards the Mjolnir's windshield. Sparks had to bend a little in his seat to see what he was pointing at.  
  
Beneath them spread the ruined dock of Zion. There were many people walking about their business, pushing carts loaded with metal scrap, carrying meals to those who worked day in and day out repairing what the machines had done. children running around the wreckage, collecting shreds and pieces of what used to be a APU or a sentinel, it was hard to tell. Above it all was the great hole where gate three had been. That was what Roland was gesturing at.  
  
"Roland," Sparks shook his head. "It's pointless. What good can you do piloting this ship alone? What use is there? You won't be able to get to the EMP if something happened anyway", he snickered, his tone more mocking than he intended it to be.  
  
Roland sighed and sank in his chair, his shoulders hunching. This was not the same man he knew. The Roland that he knew would have burst with rage by now, he never could stand it when people tried to tell him what to do.  
  
"I do what I can," came the quiet but firm answer. "I do what I can."  
  
Sparks lowered his gaze and said nothing. There wasn't much to say.  
  
Roland somehow thought that guarding the breached dock day and night would make amends for whatever it was that he blamed himself for.   
  
As the days passed since the attack on Zion, and the Logos didn't return, Roland grew more and more restless. He would spend his waking hours at the dock, watching the repairs on his ship, shouting orders and lashing out whenever a mistake was made.  
  
Sparks tried to talk to him then, he invited him to come drink with some of the others. He got nothing but a typical "mind your own business goddamnit," but even then Sparks could already see something different about him- like his thoughts were somewhere else. He would stop his impatient pacing and look to Gate three and soon after that he would find some error, a loose latch or a circuit that needed re-checking, but he refused to talk about it.  
  
And than the Logos came back. It was brought by the machines, repaired and cleaned and with no trace of the two that took it to the machine's city. It was a week after the repairs on the Hammer were done, and Roland was nowhere to be seen. He didn't come to the dock to see it, or at least no one saw him when he did. The Hammer was seen hovering in front of Gate three the morning after it was brought back, and has been ever since, Roland only landing to recharge it whenever it was needed.  
  
Sparks looked at the older man who sat near him. Roland had finished eating and resumed his lifeless stare at the windshield. He ignored him completely, looking at the people working down on the dock, but Sparks didn't care. There was more here than Roland's childlike persistence. He was hurting. He was carrying on his back more than he should have to and Sparks wanted to reach over to him, to comfort him, to make him understand that it was not his fault. All he could do was try.  
  
He moved his hand slowly, reaching out but not quite sure where to. He ended up touching Roland's hand, which lay on the armrest closest to him. The man's skin was soft and limp; the veins on the back of his hand stuck out, the little hairs standing up as Sparks covered it with his own hand. Roland did nothing to let him know that he even noticed any of this and Sparks didn't press him for a response. He settled for sitting with him liked this, hands touching, and looking down on the wounded city.  
  
--------------------  
  
_'He's touching my hand,'_ Roland thought, _'what is he doing?'_ His body grew stiff at the touch; He fixed his eyes on the view in front of him, unsure of what he should do._ 'It doesn't matter now. I have things to do.'_ He twisted his nose a little and snuck a quick look at Sparks, who was sitting still, his eyes turned downwards, away from Roland. It was like Sparks wasn't aware of his presence, save for that hand.  
  
He forced himself not to look again. _'There's nothing here, don't be a fool,'_ he thought, _'this is nothing. Though,'_ Roland tightened his lips at the thought, _'the touch of his hand is so… '_  
  
Roland shifted in his seat, exhaling slowly. He wished the thoughts away, willing for the memories to stay buried. In his mind he saw a younger Sparks, walking lazily in the Mjolnir's corridors, laughing. He remembered how he tentatively talked to the crew at first, trying to make friends, he remembered the long nights of card games that soon became a habit, he nearly smiled when he thought about the young man following him with quiet eyes, thinking he was unseen. But above all he remembered the regret. He shouldn't have picked Sparks as an operator. That decision was made for the wrong reasons. But he was much younger then, they both were._ 'So what?'_ His thoughts mocked him. _'And now that you are older, now that you have eight years more of experience as a captain, are you able to make the right choices? The right decisions? They're not coming back.'_ Roland closed his eyes.  
  
------------------------   
  
Sparks was just finishing his shift at the core that day. He was headed towards his room, the one after Roland's. He stopped at Roland's door and listened, trying to make out what his captain was doing in there. Trying to make up his mind about knocking on the crude metal door. Finely the decision was made for him, as Roland opened the door himself and stood looking at Sparks, his hands crossed on his chest. Sparks ran his hand in his short hair and dug his mind for something to say. He opened his mouth, but Roland beat him to it.   
  
"Did you want something?" he said.   
  
"Don't we all?" Sparks replied quickly, and planted his gaze on his boots.   
  
Roland frowned, but said nothing. His bad mood was not a reason to lash out on his crew, let alone on him. There was silence for a few long moments. The two men were each looking for words, but none came. Then Sparks muttered good night and turned his back, making one slow, unwilling step towards his own room. Roland reached out and placed a strong hand on his shoulder, inhaling deeply before saying "Rest well Sparks."  
  
His hand lingered on the young man's shoulder longer than necessary, freezing him in place. Roland removed his hand quickly and grabbed the door's latch, his knuckles whitening from the strength of the grip. Words were running in his head, wanting to be voiced.  
  
The warm hand on his shoulder was enough to give Sparks' the push he needed. Everything went still when he turned back to Roland, and made two quick steps. His breaths were shallow; his hands reached to Roland's neck and pulled him close, his fingers leaving marks on the older men's neck. His legs were shaking. He brought his head closer, his lips almost touching Roland's who was too stunned to react. At the last moment Sparks opened his eyes to look at Roland's, and in front of his unresponsive gaze, his courage betrayed him. He pulled back slowly. His hands left Roland's neck, his face reddening.   
  
Roland grabbed that hand and placed it back on his neck. He used his other hand to pull Sparks close again. He bent a little and kissed his lower lip.   
  
Sparks startled, a squeak escaping his mouth. He tightened the grip of his hand on Roland's neck, and returned the kiss.  
  
Trying not to break contact, Roland pulled him into his room, pinning him against the wall near the door. He kissed him again, his eyes shut tight.   
  
Sparks wrapped his free hand around Roland's lower back, the man responded by pressing Sparks even harder against the metal wall. He could sense what Roland wanted, the thought fluttered in his mind. He pushed Roland towards the end of the room, where the bed stood, his hands firmly settling themselves underneath the man's shirt.  
  
Roland nodded, placing his hands on Sparks' waist and turning him so that he would be the one leading the way.   
  
Sparks was overwhelmed by it all, it was wrong, he knew it was wrong. Roland was his captain. And this was not part of the captain/operator relationship definition, he was sure of it.   
Distracted by his thoughts, he let Roland sit him on the edge of the bed. He obediently raised his hands so that Roland could pull his shirt over his head, all the while both man let their hands feel their way on the unfamiliar skin. The shirt was drawn half way through over his head when Roland paused. He felt his body moving away from him, but with the shirt covering his head, he couldn't make out why. "Roland?" He asked in a near whisper. His heart pounded fast, the passion turning to a knot of fear blocking his throat. _'We didn't close the door.'_  
  
Roland stared almost open mouthed at Maggie who was standing frozen at the doorway. A few age long moment passed before one of them could speak.  
  
"I… I wanted to ask if you need something before I went to sleep, ca…captain." She stammered and swallowed hard. Her freckled face was reddening. She looked for something to place her eyes on other than Sparks, who has now taken his shirt off completely, and was exchanging looks between her and Roland. She settled for the floor. "I didn't mean to interrupt... I'll go" she said and walked away, her hurried steps down the hall echoing in the metal walls.   
  
Roland opened his mouth to say something, but no words seemed suitable, the hand he stretched towards the place in which she stood in fell limply to his side. He sat on the other side of the bunk and exhaled slowly, his shoulders hunching.  
  
Sparks got up and closed the door. He stood leaning on it and looking at the other man. "So…" He chuckled. "She's going to think we're insane."   
Roland didn't respond.   
  
He folded his hands on his chest and tried a different approach. "How long will it take for the whole fleet to know?"   
  
Roland frowned. "She'd be right," he said, ignoring that last comment. "This is insane."  
He got up from the bunk and picked Sparks' shirt from where it was dropped on the floor. "Wear it. It's cold." He said, handing him the weathered sweater.   
  
Sparks, lingering with the shirt in his hands, attempted a smile. "These are insane times Roland" he took a couple of tentative steps towards his captain, his hand reaching out to lie on his shoulder.   
  
Roland gently removed Sparks' hand and held it, avoiding his questioning eyes but for quick glances. They both were silent for a moment.   
  
Sparks felt the knot of fear coming back to raise moisture in the corners of his eyes. Then Roland abruptly let go of his hand and backed away a little. "Goddamnit Sparks, Put your shirt on." He spat.   
  
Sparks clenched his teeth. "It's not all that cold, actually, I think I'll grab a pair of shorts, if that's ok with you, Sir"  
  
-----------------------------  
  
_'I should have handled things better.'_  
  
The thought lingered in Roland's mind, and he no longer tried to push it out.   
He looked at Sparks, who seemingly was very much occupied with the armrest of his chair. To his eyes it didn't seem like there was much difference between the young man that came aboard his ship eight years ago and the man that was sitting in the co pilot's chair right now. Sparks had grown more blunt perhaps, more daring with his comments, but he was much the same.  
  
_'Nonsense. You're an old fool, thinking about these things now, after all that happened.'_  
  
He knew that Sparks didn't 'wait' for him; there was nothing to wait for. _'I made that part especially clear.'_  
  
But nonetheless, something sneaked into his mind. A small bit of hope.   
He squeezed Sparks' hand faintly, then. When no response came, he pressed a little harder. His eyes shifting to take quick a glance in Sparks' direction with out him fully intending it. _'This is madness. It was madness then, and it sure as hell is madness now.' _  
  
Sparks fixed his gaze on the armrest, examining the fabrics' texture, counting the holes in the dark materiel yet another time. He couldn't help but squint when he felt the first, somewhat shy, pressure on his hand. His hand that was interwoven with Roland's.  
  
"I'm," Roland began, the sound of his voice after the long silence sounding strange in the little closed space. "I was wrong," He said finally.  
  
Sparks raised his eyes from the armrest, and placed his them on Roland, trying to hide surprise with amusement. "Oh?" He said. "And to which mistake are you referring right now? " He regretted the words as soon as he had said them.  
  
"Yes," Roland said, his voice turning somewhat bitter with the habit of years. He didn't look at Sparks. His eyes were locked straight ahead on the windshield. His hand holding Sparks' hand with a steady grasp. "I should have…I should have dealt with things differently."  
  
Sparks swallowed hard, the amused expression erasing itself from his face. "It was a long time ago, Roland." He quietly said. "I'm gonna go."  
He then got up from the chair, gently letting go of Roland's hand in the process.   
  
Roland didn't object, but he did nothing to quicken it either. Instead, he turned in his seat a little, looking at Sparks while he slowly made his way to the door. He watched him quietly, wanting to say many things but saying none. _'It won't be of any use.'_  
  
When he was standing nearly outside the cockpit, he stopped and looked back at Roland. "I'll come back when I can. Got things to do, alcohol to consume and Niobe's latest crazy idea to indulge, you know how it is," he finished with an audible exhaling of air and what would later seem to Roland like a forced smile.  
  
Roland sat back, but his eyes remained focused on the other man. "Sparks," he said, his voice trailing off. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words seemed wrong. So he again said nothing.  
  
They looked at each other for a few brief moments. Then Roland nodded at Sparks and sat back straight in his chair.   
  
Roland heard him making his way through the big ship to the exit. His steps never paused.  
  



End file.
